


No Light No Light

by Billywick



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Post CACW, Steve Rogers definitely needs a hug, just wanted to write a bit of Steve perspective, or what i hope to be Steve's mind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony didn't call. Tony didn't need him. He shouldn't have been surprised by how much it would tear him apart.<br/>- x -<br/>Steve waiting for the phone to ring gives him far too much time to think about everything. Which, as established by the universe, means he has to think about one brilliant genius who makes the whole world spin around him.</p><p>(So I was in the mood for what I think would be Steve's mental aftermath of CACW. Which broke my heart, of course.<br/>I've seen a lot of Tony's reaction to it all, but I think Steve wouldn't walk away from it all unscathed either.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve Rogers is an expert at grieving. All forms of it, in fact. He’s spent a lot of time in his head, grieving for memories, grieving for friends, grieving for chances lost. It was never an easy adjustment, this century. The modern day and age demanded less of him and more of Captain America.

The astounding change of his public image had been surprisingly irrelevant to him, he still had the same effect that Steve Rogers treasured. The kids who wanted to dress up as him. The countless messages of gratitude, of lives saved, of acknowledgement. Deep down, wispy Steve Rogers from Brooklyn needed convincing that he was a hero. Up top, Cap knew exactly what he was, what he needed to do, and what he stood for. Not the national icon of America’s ideals, but a moral vestige and protector of the people.

Or at least, that’s how it used to be. Before the crisp, modern age began to crack at the seams, come apart the longer he spent understanding it. People did not change as much as they liked to claim. People and their agendas...well, those were older than even him.

Steve Rogers did not grieve for Captain America. He’d left all of that, finally, behind, in the mountains of Siberia. Others could take his place, he’d given the cause more than one lifetime. Others could be the hero the people deserved. Or rather, the hero they wanted on a leash, readily available, obedient. 

The damn Accords. Anger bubbled into his every fibre of being at the mere thought of them. Steve saw them for what they were. A warning. A weapon. Turning Earth’s mightiest heroes into the attack dogs of a group of people in power with no more sense of justice than anyone else. People that never had to face the danger themselves, make the decisions to save millions or worse, sacrifice thousands of lives. Steve knew he was not wrong. People with such power had no true grasp of the dangers of the extraordinary scale that they faced. That the Avengers were supposed to face. The people who lorded over the Accords only saw numbers, reports, finances and results. It wasn’t the same and it wasn’t trustworthy.

Steve had seen enough institutions gone sour, corrupt and greedy. For power or global domination, it did not matter. He was not going to anyone’s puppet anymore. And a part of him was still astonished that Tony....that Iron Man had bowed to exactly this ploy. The billionaire had a proven track record of defying ‘the Man’ as he would so eloquently put it. Steve knew. He’d seen footage. And yet...

But Steve also knew how Tony ticked. How his guilt and self-loathing could eat him up, could make him surrender to his greatest fear; failing to protect people. Failing and surviving. So maybe it wasn’t such a surprise. It was just typical of Tony...

Contemplating Iron Man’s decisions hurt. Oh, Steve was grieving. For friendships lost, for a home he could no longer return to, for the family that had given him comfort and a sense of belonging in this new world. For everything that could have been, and never was.

There was no question in his mind that Buck was worth every sacrifice. He owed so much more to his old friend, his best friend, his brother in everything but blood. The man who had suffered so much worse than Steve could ever imagine. The man that Steve had failed, over seventy years ago.

The man who had killed Tony Stark’s parents. Had killed Howard.

Steve knew that forgiveness was unlikely. He’d spent enough time around Tony Stark to know that his brilliant mind was balanced with a personality that never let go. Even if he ever calmed down, pushed away the horror of watching his mother die, he would not forgive Buck. Or in the unlikely case of Stark grasping the concept of brainwashed assassination and separated the deeds of the Winter Soldier from James Barnes, Tony would never forgive Steve for turning his back on him.

Steve remembered. He saw that look in Tony’s eyes. The betrayal and disbelief, turned into fear when Steve brought that shield down. Tony expected to die. Perhaps that’s what had brought Steve to write the letter. To send the phone.

He grieved for the loss of Tony Stark from his life. He grieved to leave the man behind, because he knew exactly what loneliness did to him. Billions would not keep Tony from cracking, trying to take the world onto his shoulders, trying to salvage what he could of the family he too believed to have found. The brilliant, self-sacrificing idiot.

_ If you need me, I’ll be there. _

That’s what he had written. That’s what he wanted Tony to know. That their friendship was not over, not for Steve. Selfish? Absolutely. He couldn’t expect Tony to understand or to forgive him, but he hoped for it nonetheless.

After a couple of days, he expected nothing. After a couple of weeks, he grew expectant. After four months, he lost hope. He knew Tony. Or at least, he liked to think so. They couldn’t stand each other the moment they met. They’d fought, squabbled, butted heads, but ultimately, come together to defeat Loki and protect Earth. Tony had proven Steve so deeply wrong, on every level. They became friends. Friends that argued, friends that fought, but they had each other’s back. Tony gave the team a home, provided as if he’d gained a fresh family. And in a way he had. Tony was always ridiculously generous, and kind, and far too observant to the needs of everyone else. And practically blind to his own. Despite the bravado, the flashy appearance, the fancy toys and the infallible sass and incessant humor, Tony Stark was a good man. Tony Stark was his friend. Had trusted him, had confided in him, had shared. 

Steve grieved for every moment of it. Of the first evening he spent in Tony’s workshop. The first time he heard about Tony’s reasons for building the armour in the first place. The first time Tony’s voice was haunted by the memories of Afghanistan, and of Obadiah Stane, the man who literally tore Tony’s heart from his body. Steve imagined that Tony must have looked and felt the same way as he had in Siberia. Betrayed, broken, fearful. Steve couldn’t stand the thought of being on the same page as Stane in Tony’s mind. It wasn’t right. He didn’t feel right. 

Yet what could he do?

Tony was not calling. 

Tony didn’t need him. 

From what he gathered of the news and snippets of information, hunted down to give himself purpose, the Accords were not working as intended. More often than not, the question arose of where the Avengers were now. What he saw of Iron Man grieved his heart. Tony didn’t look good. Tony looked alone. And yet, at least he stood tall. The burden on his shoulders was obvious and Steve apologized for giving it to him. 

But Tony would not call. Well, he did always like to hide himself away behind layers of bravado and metal. A shellhead down to the pits of his gracious heart. Steve only wished it could find the strength to resolve their conflict.

Steve needed that damn phone to ring.

With Buck gone under until they could free his mind for good, the loneliness of their isolation was beginning to wear Steve thin.

Sleep became a hassle. Memories came to his mind, to be analyzed over and over, trying to look for a clue as to what Tony could be thinking, planning. So far, he had not traced them to Wakanda. Steve was pretty sure that Tony could have found them within a day if he wanted to. Plus, the convenient incident that drew the Raft’s security away? Yeah, that had Tony written all over it.

So he was still helping. Even if he had not forgiven Steve. He still cared. And that...meant more to Steve than he would dare admit. It broke his heart to know he had hurt Tony, this man who, despite it all, still cared enough about them all not to give them up to Ross.

At some point, Steve had begun hating the phone. The silence of it tore violently at him. He could picture its counterpart, probably flung somewhere into a drawer, out of charge. Not that he doubted that Tony could charge any electronic from any period of time, but he wouldn’t do it out of principle. That’s what Tony would do to efficiently ignore Steve. Maybe he didn’t even read the letter. Steve was a coward for writing it in the first place. But he couldn’t let things end the way they did. He didn’t want Tony to blame himself for it.

God, why couldn’t it just ring once?

He gave up his nights. Sleeping was something he could forego most of the time. He was restless, aggravated, enough so that his new teammates (protecting the world from the shadows was kind of noble in a way that Steve didn’t even think about) began reacting. Not speaking to him about it, but he noticed. The glances. The subtle gestures. Barton went as far as dramatically whispering ‘just call him before someone dies’ at him after another bruising session with a sandbag that ended with a tragically exploded bag.

Steve had answered nothing. Had wrapped his knuckles and left the gym. Just thinking of Tony had him on edge, had his temper flaring, his frustration paperthin on the surface.

_Just call him._

It wasn’t that easy. Tony didn’t need him.

Even if he did call, what would he say? What could he say? Sorry wasn’t enough. For what should he apologize that he had not already? What could he do to make it right? What conversation could span this rift, could choke the loneliness out of Steve’s mind and close the gaping hole where Tony should be?

How could he explain himself?

Steve needed Tony.  But that didn’t change what he had done. It was not something to be forgiven, no matter how close their friendship. No matter how vivid the memories of those nights when friendship had become...something else. Steve grieved the missed chances to find out what that could have been. They never spoke. Mostly because Steve was great at deflecting and Tony didn’t discuss feelings without threat to his life.

He wished they had. Now, it was too late.

Tony hated him. 

And Steve? He grieved for the memory of filthy whispers in lieu of sweet confessions, the scrape of a beard over his face, the cherished, mischievous look in warm brown eyes. He dreamed of their nights and knew he’d missed yet another chance to not be alone. Another dance he would never have. 

Tony hated him.

The first time the phone rang, Steve felt as if he’d come out of the ice all over again. He picked up after the fifth ring, and managed to only breathe into the receiver.

“I hope you realize that the mere existence of this flip phone in my presence is an insult.”

He almost laughed, but his breath hitched instead. This was real. No dream, no nightmare, no memory. And Tony’s voice, it was...waiting. For him to speak. 

“Tony.”

“...Steve.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve Rogers is an expert asshole.

Tony doesn’t dwell on it. Or, maybe he does, but he very actively tries not to think about Steve Rogers. Trying and succeeding however, were two very different things.

Captain America is gone. Well and truly this time, no secret capsicles or cryo-chambers. This time, Cap wasn’t killed by Hydra, or the Red Skull. No, this time, Steve Rogers did it all by himself.

Tony keeps the shield. It doesn’t belong to Rogers. It belongs to Cap and Cap is dead, so Tony will hold onto it forever. Or until he finds something better to turn this mass of vibranium into. He tells anyone who will listen, or who is unfortunate enough to discover the shield that Tony keeps in his shop. First, he wanted to leave it at the compound, burn the letter and smash the phone. But some part of him didn’t hate Steve enough to leave evidence of his correspondence laying around. He was pretty damn sure Ross was keeping his beady eye on him. He didn’t trust Iron Man’s loyalty, and maybe that was justified. Tony did help the ‘secret’ avengers bust out of the Raft, though of course he had covered his tracks expertly.

But maybe that wasn’t down to Steve. Nope, actually, it really wasn’t. Tony didn’t want to see Barton, Wilson or Maximoff locked up. Ant-Man was a none factor.

Steve...fucking hell. Even when he tried his best not to think of the man, he crept and crawled his way into Tony’s head. What the hell was he thinking, sending that letter? As if an apology would patch up what Steve had thrown away within a heartbeat. Steve could shove his apology up his righteous ass. He was being an arrogant idiot. Tony may not be the best candidate to point it out, but he knew that Steve didn’t have the bigger picture in mind.

It kind of poured salt into his wounds to know the Accords were already being abused by the council in charge of them. There were plenty of missions that Tony had evaded. Just because he thought the Avengers ought to be responsible didn’t mean he was going to be the UN’s hound. Much to the chagrin of Ross.

But just because there were complications didn’t mean Steve was right. Steve hadn’t signed of his own volition. Steve hadn’t even considered it, no matter how Tony had tried to entice him by changing the terms. Offering to change them to adapt to Steve’s concern for that murderous...

Tony didn’t know if he could ever swallow his anger when it came to Barnes. With distance came perspective, and maybe, maybe he would try to see that it was not Barnes at fault for being brainwashed, but the raw fury that crept up his spine at the memory of seeing his mother, choked to death simply for being in that car, that Tony could not try to combat. He didn’t want to, either.

No part of him could summon pity for Barnes. And no part of him could strip blame from Steve for throwing him away. Would he have done the same for Rhodey? Maybe. Well...yes. But Rhodey would also never be in that position. Maybe it was unfair to put it that way, but Tony didn’t care about being fair. Tony cared that his friendship, his olive branches, everything he’d done for Steve, it had been tossed aside. Worthless.

It burned. It seared right through the heart of him. Never would he forget that moment when he had felt Steve would end it. Would kill him. He was almost sorry that Steve didn’t bring that shield down on his throat.

Tony thought that he’d already lived through the low points of his life. The death of his parents. Afghanistan. New York. The Mandarin. Ultron.

But no. Siberia, it was the new champion rock bottom that Tony had hit with several, sickening crunches. Steve Rogers had left with his ancient, brainwashed best friend. Tony had left with nothing more than a broken heart and a shield. Captain America was dead. 

And Iron Man wished he was, too.

Yeah, he knew he had to persevere. There was no one else to pass the responsibility to. Tony wouldn’t do that either, unlike Steve. Tony knew that stubbornly denying the future was an idiotic, asshole move. 

_The Avengers are yours._

What Avengers? That was so generous of Steve, handing him the reins of a broken, empty team. Rhodey was lucky to be alive. Vision had been silent ever since Leipzig. Widow had disappeared. T’Challa, well, he’d never really been on the team for the team’s sake.

And hell if Tony was ever going to put Spider-man in harm’s way again. He was just a kid, and Tony had nearly gotten him killed too.

His death toll was just another burden that forbid Tony from giving up. There was no one else.

Steve Rogers was an asshole.

And Tony missed him like crazy. Not enough to reconsider his position, He didn’t miss the stubborn arguments, the endless discussions and near blows. He missed his friend, the get together’s at the compound, the near-family feel that only the Avengers had been able to afford him.

And of course...well, there were those nights where he and Steve clashed in a way that Tony could absolutely not forget. When heated tempers had lead to heated touches and throes of passion that Tony had absolutely not expected, but welcomed nonetheless. In those few moments, Tony opened up. Had let Steve in. Had shared his memories, experiences even fears. He remembered breathing through anxiety attacks with Steve beside him, giving him space, patience, even understanding. Subtle touches and gestures that showed him, or so he thought, that Steve was in it for the long haul, not just the quick ride. Tony Stark was a mess, but Steve had seemed comfortable in handling it.

Oh, how wrong Tony had been. How stupid his hopes. It was all one big setup, one more loss that Tony couldn’t stomach. But wasn’t that just the way of his life? Every time he got attached, close, doors slammed in his face, his heart a crippled, broken thing that Tony had to tape together with guilt and responsibility. 

Maybe it would have been easier for him if he had anyone left to turn to. But the break with Pepper, Happy’s recovery (which, Tony had insisted on extending) and now, Rhodey’s horrific injury...they were not strong enough to deal with a broken Tony. And he had no intention of being their burden.

Fuck Steve Rogers.

Fuck him and his letter and especially that fossil of a phone.

Did he really think Tony would call him, cry and forgive it all? 

No, he didn’t. Tony had read that letter a thousand times. It was not one that held Steve’s hope of reconciliation. It was some sort of effort to try and tell Tony that he would still come, should the world need protecting. Great. Didn’t matter. Iron Man could carry the world and Captain America could finally be just a treasured memory.

Tony wasn’t going to call.

He really wasn’t.  
Days passed, weeks crawled by, months took what little there was left of Tony. The world grew heavier and Iron Man was rusting away beneath it. Rhodey’s recovery was slow, despite Tony’s continuous development of a prosthetic that would allow him a normal life. Vision meditated a lot these days, rarely exchanged a word with anyone. 

Steve’s team...they were around. Tony saw the signs, their marks, covering disasters that Tony would arrive too late for, halfway across the world. At least they didn’t seem selfish enough to deny people their protection. Self-righteous vigilantes still weren’t the answer, weren’t the future.

The compound was a hollow shell. Tony preferred it to the tower. Sentimental? Maybe. There was nothing here for him except a damn shield and an infuriating letter.

And a phone. One phonecall. That’s how far Steve allegedly was from him. Admittedly, it was new among the trend of people-throwing-Tony-Stark-away-after-casually-breaking-off-another-piece. 

It made him curious, in a morbid sort of way. Did Steve really think this could be patched up? Or was it just a matter of settling his conscience?

It had not rang once, even though Tony kept it charged. Steve was a coward. Or he just didn’t care. Tony wasn’t sure which was worse.

But the curiosity grew. What would Steve say? More apologies? Maybe even some sort of half-assed attempt at explaining himself? Tony would hang up, he was three hundred percent sure of it.

Maybe it was the sense of being proven right that had him dial the only number in the contacts. 

_You know who I am._

Funny, that sounded more like his sense of style than Steve’s. 

It rang. Twice. Three times. Four times. Five-

And someone picked up, just breathing into the receiver. Did Steve intend to simply be a creeper and say nothing? The proud asshole, too high and mighty to speak to Tony first?

Fine. Tony wasn’t afraid of anyone. And definitely not Steve Rogers.

“I hope you realize that the mere existence of this flip phone in my presence is an insult.”

The breathing got shaky. Was Steve trying to laugh? No, because he spoke a moment later, and his voice was so laden with emotion that it nearly bowled Tony over.

“Tony.”

Relief? It was...something like it. Huh. And here he expected the super soldier to be annoyed, put upon by the promise he only made to assuage his own conscience. But Steve genuinely sounded...a mess.

“...Steve.”

He waited for Steve to talk, to get over that shaky breath and speak his piece. Tony waited for accusation, for a demand to know why he called, for their conversation to become about something else. Some threat, some danger, anything that wasn’t the two of them on a personal level.

“You look tired.”

Asshole. Tony felt bile rise in his throat. Steve had some nerve, acting as if he still cared. Acting as if he was any kind of affected by the chaos he’d left behind-

“I can’t sleep either.”

What was this? Tony bit back any kind of humour he usually would have injected into a conversation at this point, just listening to how Steve spoke. He did sound different. Tired. Haunted. Weary.

“Yeah, well you did sleep for seventy years.”

Alright, the quip came before he could possibly choke it down. He practically felt the sigh that came from the other end of the phone.

“Maybe I should have stayed in the ice.”

“Maybe you should have.”

Silence sprawled between them for half a minute, and Tony thought that Steve had hung up until the man sighed again.

“You’re still angry.”

“You bet your fucking ass I’m angry.”

“Because of Buck.”

“No, because of you, damn asshole.”

“What do you want me to say, Tony?”

“Not a goddamn thing, Rogers. This was a bad idea.”

He hung up, not waiting for another word out of Steve’s mouth. 

The phone vibrated, but Tony threw it back into the drawer. Why he had done that? The bile in his throat, the anxiety crawling up his spine, it was all damn Steve Rogers’ fault. Tony pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to will down the attack. It didn’t work. It took him ten minutes to calm down again. He glanced at the phone he’d discarded earlier, nudged it open despite his better judgement, to read what Steve had sent.

_I know it’s rich, coming from me, but take care of yourself Tony. The world needs you. I need you, but I know I don’t deserve anything from you._

Steve Rogers was the world’s biggest damn asshole.


End file.
